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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28048599">Interlude #3: Superior Officer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmodeusyne/pseuds/asmodeusyne'>asmodeusyne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Republic of Infidels - Interludes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Republic of Infidels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:27:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28048599</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmodeusyne/pseuds/asmodeusyne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Delaware contemplates the nature of his relationship with Rachel</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Delaware - Relationship, Rachel - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Republic of Infidels - Interludes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042635</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Interlude #3: Superior Officer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I overheard your kids gossiping.” </p><p>Delaware thought it a bit rich that Rachel, a contemporary of the River, referred to his elites as his “kids”. But then, it wasn’t exactly a new joke. He himself thought of them as his bastard children, his litter of lion cubs -- playful now, but destined to become deadly. </p><p>Sometimes he forgot that Rachel was eight younger than himself, and then abruptly remembered when her short temper got the better of her. Then she had all the grace of a sixteen year old who couldn’t, for the life of her, understand why he’d failed to make the twenty-odd calculations that had led her to whatever conclusion she was taking for granted. </p><p>It was a paradox that still startled him. It wasn’t that her myriad of personalities were in any way disingenuous - her bedside manner often included describing to her patient the exact degree of pain her treatment was about to cause them - it was that he was never quite able to reconcile them all at one time. He could fit them together side by side, but not in total relation to each other. The doctor fit with the intellect, the warrior with the rage, the vulnerability and the carnality. And he could draw lines across to each of these, because such was she, his darling, that her pleasure at performing intricate surgery was equal to her satisfaction at driving a knife up under the ribs. He assumed it was for love of symmetry, that the act itself dealt with the same physical systems - just that instead of repairing blood vessels and arteries, she was cutting them apart. </p><p>He lowered the iPad down from his face and looked up at his very new wife as she lounged at the desk, leaning back in and watching him, waiting for him to pay attention to her. </p><p>She wore her fatigues, oak leaf and acorn glinting on her epaulets above her lieutenant stripes. She had asked, when he’d finally put it to her, to be treated according to the standards of the Navy Medical Corp. Then her impatience had gotten the better of her, as she realized this meant she would be inferior to higher ranking officers outside of her specialism, and that she would have to participate in the system according to procedure. </p><p>She’d done it, though. She’d groused, and they’d argued, but he told her the only special treatment she was going to get beyond a fair rate of promotion was the privilege of sucking his cock in the evenings. He’d nipped right out the door after that one, so he hadn’t been able to enjoy her reaction, but she’d kept her trap shut with the rest of the crew, endured training, exercises, and followed orders. </p><p>The only concession she made to her temper was the blatant disrespect she showed him on a regular basis. Not once had she acknowledged him as her superior officer on duty or in private, except in mockery. And that, he decided, was fair. With the exception of the River, who themselves only ribbed their boss as a way of whistling in the dark, none of his other subordinates took it upon themselves to relax their standard of respect.</p><p>It was strange. He had to admit that to himself. But after a brief time in which his crew came to know Rachel, they seemed to understand her place in his world. More than that, they took it for granted that if there was one person who could match Captain Delaware Ford for intensity, who could make him forget himself, who in a way, complemented his wry dignity with acerbic and rampant genius, it was Dr Rachel Kori. </p><p>“Captain Kori and Doctor Ford,” she said idly, looking up at the ceiling as she rotated slowly in her chair. She was vaguely childlike in that attitude, a total departure from her focused physical training, or her meticulously relaxed surgical posture. It was strange to him that he found this attitude most endearing. Possibly not a mystery, as there was an evolutionary component to the attraction. She was eight years his junior, and he was still a young man, nearing thirty four, physically powerful. She was vital. She was gorgeous. And the result of her commitment to being part of his little navy was that her physical strength now matched her skills with edged weapons. Her arms were strong, and her core muscles were rock hard. </p><p>He looked at her, thought about what they’d discussed, about returning to Himalaya to deal with Miryam, and get no little amount of revenge, and imagined how lovely it would be to watch her in action. She was still a weak shot, but her detail work was fine. He felt a stirring in the pit of his belly as he remembered the image of her driving his own knife, seized from his boot, up under the chin and into the brain of some sad sack Lammergeier. </p><p>That, he thought, should not turn him on. But it did. She’d pinned him exactly when she’d told him he was desperate for some kind of conflict. Deep down, he knew it was why he’d stayed away from Himalaya for so long. Once in among a sea of potential enemies, he’d gone out of his way to make them definite enemies. </p><p>“Sorry, what?” he blinked.</p><p>“That’s what they’re calling us.”</p><p>He cocked a brow. “I see. Is that supposed to bother me?”</p><p>She shrugged. “Does it? It feels odd, Dr. Ford. I’m not Dr. Ford.”</p><p>He knew what she meant. His brother Hudson had been Dr. Ford, even more for her than for him. Captain Kori, well. Vikram had even been Captain Kori for a while, for all the good it did him.</p><p>“Was there another point they felt they needed to make to qualify that?” he wondered.</p><p>She grinned, rather nastily. “I asked them that myself. It seems they didn’t have an answer for that. I asked them if they really thought I was running the Walsh and using you as my puppet.” </p><p>Delaware grinned back. He knew, and so did every member of the River, that Rachel had neither the temperament nor the attention span for so large a social project as captaining the Walsh. Neither did he have the patience or the sheer breadth of knowledge to do any of the things she did. </p><p>“Your prisoner, my superior officer,” he murmured, recalling her words to him. </p><p>“Superior in what particular?” she asked, only her eyes fell on him with that look. He set the ipad down, and felt the stirring move down into his balls. </p><p>“Get undressed,” he ordered, softly, but still very definitely a command. She looked back at him, deciding whether she was going to play him for it. Then she stood, and began to unbutton the fatigue shirt, clearly in no hurry.</p><p>To the outside world, they were matched for gravitas. He had calm, poise, the ability to be still. She was a flame, always moving, thinking, aggressive with her students as she was with her subordinates, but her energy was mesmerizing. She dominated, commanding respect with her unsurpassed intellect and skill. He thought she would have made an exceptional professor, the kind that frightens and inspires. </p><p>Here, behind closed doors, he knew she found tremendous relief in surrendering that control. He was not, as many powerful men were, indeed as Rachel was, inverted in his sexual preference. He was not submissive by way of contrast to his power, but dominant in complement to it.</p><p>Her shirt dropped to the floor. Slowly, she stepped out of her pants, and stood before him in simple black underwear, and a black sports bra. She was full breasted, though they were high on her muscled torso from daily conditioning.</p><p>He looked her over, taking in her smooth brown skin, the toned muscle of her legs, her arms. He thought he’d like to oil her skin one day, watch her gleam in the sun. He added it, with a shiver of delight, to the list of things he had yet to try. </p><p>He fixed her with a penetrating stare, waiting for her to finish carrying out his order. She eyed him back, partly resentful, but also receptive. She unhooked her bra and let it fall, then slipped out of her underwear, and stood before him, naked. </p><p>In another mood, she’d cock a hip and beckon, tease him, but instead she was waiting on him, testing herself to see how long she could play this game before her desire overwhelmed her. </p><p>“Undress me.”</p><p>He rose, stood before her in his drawstring pants and wifebeater, and knew it wouldn’t be much of a task. It didn’t matter. He just wanted her to do it, unquestioning. Her face was impassive, but the hands that slid under the wifebeater were not. They were cool, and sensuous, running over the ripples and contours of his own muscles. She touched him with every single anatomical consideration in her mind, knew where his sensitive nerves were, what was under his skin. </p><p>His breath caught. He raised his arms to let her lift the shirt off, then watched as she pulled the drawstring open, eased her fingers into the waistband and slid his pants down over his legs, going to her knees in the process. He wore no briefs underneath, and his cock stood out from him, semi-erect. </p><p>He looked down at her, now seeing through a haze of arousal. She looked up at him expectantly, seated on her heels, hands resting in her lap. </p><p>“Get me hard,” he ordered. “Use your mouth. Just your mouth.”</p><p>She licked her lips in a slow, deliberate way that made him tense in the middle. Then she pressed them to the shallow arc of his shaft, tongue flickering out to stroke the underside. She lapped at him, tongue moving up in an agonizingly slow way. By the time she made it to the head, he was hard as a statue. He watched her feed at the head, licking up pre-come, and his balls twitched. He couldn’t stop himself -- he seized her hair, pulled her straight up the three and a half feet to his face and kissed her, opening her mouth with his tongue, holding her head with one hand under her chin. It was a position from which to kiss as in the Klimt painting-- or to throttle. </p><p>He pulled her back on to the bed, pulled her on top of him. She sat back, her cunt wet as it rested, gliding over the top of his cock. She watched him, waiting for him to instruct her. </p><p>He lifted his chin. “I want you to fuck me, Lieutenant Kori.”</p><p>He might have known he’d lost his initiative here, given that he had a murderous erection and she was now in control of it, but it was also the simple failure on his part to anticipate the limit of her deference. </p><p>She tilted her head, her eyes going dark. “That’s Doctor Kori to you, Captain.” </p><p>Then her hand shot out, sharp little knuckles catching him across the cheekbone. It wasn’t quite equal to the blows she’d delivered in anger, but it was enough to sting, to make him blink. He looked back at her, then saw her expression, that come-get-me grin that lit her features. He felt an electric crackling in his ribcage.</p><p>He seized her by the hips, arched his own and shoved his cock up inside her, no prelude, no slow introduction, just nine inches right up into her. She made a sound like a sobbing gasp, so he pulled out, then did it again. He seized her wrists, and though she was now very strong, he could bench 300 pounds on a bad day. He fit both wrists into one hand, held them behind her back, which was easy because he was a foot taller than her. </p><p>“Do you know what the punishment is for striking a superior officer?” he asked her.</p><p>“What, you’re going to court martial me?”</p><p>He thrust, once, knowing he was bruising her inside, because she flinched. With his free hand, he stroked her abdomen, her ribs, and filled his palm with her breast. He rolled her nipple between two fingers, and smiled as her eyelids fluttered. </p><p>“Fuck me, Rachel,” he told her. He let go of her hands, positioned his own hands on her hips, thumbs meeting over her navel. </p><p>She looked down at him, wrapped her hands over his forearms for support, then began to roll her hips. She was slow in adjusting to him, and they normally took more time, but he cherished her expression, her parted lips, her watering eyes. That she would do this for him, let him descend back into the raw depths of his erotic interior, he knew himself to be a blessed man indeed. He would do more with her, more than he’d done with any woman, because he knew that she wanted to feel that safety of being taken to the knife edge, knowing he would hold her there, would protect her from the precipice.</p><p>This was mild in comparison to those fantasies. He felt her muscles coiling and uncoiling as she undulated her hips, now working at a faster pace. Sweat pricked out on her flesh as she rode him at a pace that would soon exhaust her. He caught her hands with his, laced his fingers through hers as she arched backwards, taking his cock in long strokes from an almost recumbent position. </p><p>“Delaware,” she gasped, the last two letters disappearing into that Indo-Anglo accent. Then she cried it out, and he couldn’t stand it any more. He pulled her forward, put his hand in the small of her back, and reared up so that they were both almost sitting, nose to nose.<br/>
 <br/>
Using a combination of upward thrusts, he bounced her on his cock, pressing his mouth to hers, dying a little as her tongue probed against his. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pressed his face against her cheek as he began to come, his balls drawing up as he shot into her. </p><p>“Rachel...love you, perfect -- oh god,” he heard himself say from a distance. Then she kissed him again, kissed him and kissed him as she took his come, her taut little muscles squeezing his cock, pulling him deeper into her. Then she pulled back, gasping for air as his grinding on her finally brought her. She twitched, clung to his neck, her own cry devolving into a whimper, a vibration against his skin. </p><p>Then she went limp. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she just leaned against him, forehead resting against his neck. He stroked her hair, let his fingers travel down her spine, finding the delineation of each fine vertebra. Her breath against his neck was warm, and he wondered at the miracle of her, this woman, this insane girl, his comrade in arms, how she had happened to him. </p><p>He reclined back into the pillows, taking her with him. His mind was muted, if not cleared, and he stroked her soft warm skin, teasing the sweat into little paths as it evaporated. </p>
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